Capture Your Grief : Day 31 // Sunset

Today concludes the Capture Your Grief project for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. The theme for the last day is sunset. Now I have to be honest. Because of it being Halloween and spending time with my family, I wasn't able to make it outside in time to capture the sunset. But I do have a lovely photo of a sunset from a few days ago that I will share.

This month's project made me think a lot about my grief journey. I'm really glad I participated. It was  good to get some thoughts out and articulate some feelings. This journey isn't over. I'll carry this for the rest of my life. But being able to express myself and have a voice has made a lot of difference.

Capture Your Grief : Day 30 // Tell the world

If I could tell the world one thing about grieving a lost baby, no matter the gestation, is that it's a real, legitimate pain. That our babies are real and they still belong to us. We don't mourn for just a moment. We lost them for a lifetime and that's how long we have to cope without them. I wish people were more willing to be empathetic and just imagine being in the shoes of a bereaved parent. Most say "I can't even imagine what you're going through." Why not? Just picture what it might be like, imagine the horror and the agony. For anyone who's ever loved a child, it's not hard to imagine that life would be hell without them. No one would ever want to erase the joy and the beauty of the years with their child, just like we did not want to give up those years.

Above all, I desire for everyone to count Avery. If I consider her my child then there is no question. It's not up for discussion. It's not for anyone else to decide. Just because she wasn't here long or because some didn't have the chance to see her, it doesn't change how real she is and that she existed. Her heart beat on this earth beneath mine. She is in Heaven waiting for us and we will be with her again. Jude does not replace her. Death does not erase her. Time does not erase her.

I long to know she is remembered. I long to hear that she's missed. I love to hear her name and to know she's crossed someone's mind. That is such a gift to any bereaved person. No matter who you have lost. The first horror is losing them. The second horror is that they will be forgotten.

I have two children. Not just one. Someone very special came before my sweet boy. She is the reason he is here.

Capture Your Grief : Day 29 // Music

Music has always been such a vital part of my life. I love it, to put it simply. I love to have songs to relate to, to enjoy. When we first lost Avery, I had a hard time even wanting to listen to any music. It just felt wrong. I couldn't do anything that was normal. But I couldn't stay away from it for long. And quickly, I found so many songs that became Avery songs. The best, however, is one I have known for years. I'm sure it's meant for a romantic relationship, but to me it goes perfectly. It's my song for her.

Could It Be Any Harder

The Calling

 

You left me with goodbye and open arms
A cut so deep I don't deserve
You were always invincible in my eyes
The only thing against us now is time

Could it be any harder to say goodbye and without you,
Could it be any harder to watch you go, to face what's true
If I only had one more day

I lie down and blind myself with laughter
A quick fix of hope is what I'm needing
How I wish that I could turn back the hours
But I know I just don't have the power

I'd jump at the chance
We'd drink and we'd dance
And I'd listen close to your every word
As if it's your last, well I know it's your last
Cause today, oh, you're gone

Could it be any harder to live my life without you
Could it be any harder

  I'm all alone, I'm all alone

Like sand on my feet
The smell of sweet perfume
You stick to me forever, baby
I wish you didn't go
I wish you didn't go

I wish you didn't go away
To touch you again with life in your hand
It couldn't be any harder...

Capture Your Grief : Day 28 // Memory

It's been so difficult for me to choose one significant memory that stands out above the rest... the one I want to single out and share. So many moments come to mind immediately. The ultrasound where the tech wouldn't say what we already knew. Calling my mom to tell her Avery was gone... The list is endless.

I think though that the tenderest moment, one that I cannot and do not want to forget, is when Daniel and I were left completely alone with Avery in the hospital room. We were saying our final goodbye to her and spending our last moments ever with our daughter on this earth.

Daniel sat down with me on the bed and took Avery into his hands. We looked at her together, huddled close, tears streaming down our faces. I remember looking up at Daniel, miserably, and saying, "Daniel, what happened to our little girl?" It was almost pleading, begging him to give me answers I couldn't find, but knew full well he couldn't either.

I picked up the camera and took more photos of her, capturing her ink stained feet one more time. As I snapped more photos, I realized how much she was physically deteriorating. It felt unfair to keep taking her picture, as if I was compromising her dignity. I set the camera down and Daniel and I both agreed it was time for her to go. For us to give her up and say goodbye. It was the hardest thing we've ever had to decide together. Something we never thought we'd discuss... Not what color to paint the living room, or what to make for dinner... We had to decide that it was time to say goodbye to our daughter, after just seven hours with her. To give her to a nurse to take away so the funeral director could pick her up and take her to the funeral home to prepare her for her casket. How could we endure that? I still can't fathom it, though I've been living it for two and a half years.

It was God orchestrated that our pastor happened to arrive then to pray with us. He'd been away on a trip to Tennessee and just happened to get back in time, before Avery was taken away. Everyone came back into the room as Pastor John (one of my old high school teachers, my old youth pastor, the pastor who married Daniel and me) prayed over us. I do not remember what he prayed; all I could do was stare at my little girl, desperately trying to memorize every inch of her, the curves of her face and the feel of her skin. I ached to remember her always. Every precious detail.

Daniel made the horrific call to the front desk, requesting that the nurse come take our baby. It was awful. I don't know how I actually managed to hand Avery over to nurse. How I let her little body leave my hands for the last time. As the tears flow now, recalling it, I know they poured then.

After the nurse took Avery, she turned around to place her into the bassinet. I waited for her to move so I could take one last glance at my little girl before she was gone forever. But to my horror, when the nurse moved to the back of the rolling bassinet, I saw Avery was covered with a blanket... just like a dead body under a sheet.

I felt angry and upset that my last chance to see her was taken away. In these moments, this was not a dead body, a stillborn baby... This was my daughter, my precious baby, my little girl. She looked like her Daddy. And in this last second, I was angry on top of my grief. If that nurse could have just waited until she wheeled the bassinet across the room and behind the curtain before she covered her... It probably never occurred to her what a big deal that was. I'm sure she was just doing her job, shielding all of the normal happy moms that might be out in the hallway from seeing my dead baby. But she ruined my last moment. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but to me it does. She was the only nurse who took care of me during Avery's birth that had never experienced a loss. And she was the only one who did insensitive things... more than once.

Despite the nurse's inability to meet our needs, our last moments with Avery were so tender and precious. I felt so much love for Daniel, that we were holding each up through this, facing it together. And even though I felt so sick with grief and devastation, such a sense of dread and reluctance, I still felt so much love for that little girl. I still do.

Capture Your Grief : Day 27 // Artwork

Today's post calls for artwork that reminds me of Avery, or something that was made for her by me or someone else. I pondered for a while, thinking of photos that people have sent me of Avery's name in the sand or carved into a tree. Maybe my Molly Bear or my Heart to Hold. Then it came to me... the most precious and amazing thing anyone has ever done to honor Avery. A song written just for her.

My brother-in-law, Andy, Daniel's younger brother, wrote a beautiful song called "The News Hits Me So Hard." One night last summer, right before Jude was born, he (and his wife) came over just to play it for us on his guitar. Daniel and I were so touched by that. Andy has such an undeniable, God-given talent, and the fact that he used it to honor our baby girl, his niece, blesses my broken heart more than I can describe.

{Listen to Andy's song right here}

The News Hits Me So Hard

By: Andy Feller

 

The news hits me so hard
My brother's baby girl won't make it out alive
This feeling of helplessness overtakes me
I don't know why this happened but I miss you, Avery

Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you
Even though they missed your first word and step
God knows I believe that you're singing and dancing in His holy presence

We love you so much
We hate to say goodbye
Those tiny hands hold our hearts so tight
Don't you worry, we'll hold you soon
But till then, don't forget that

We love you
We miss you
We wish you were here with us

Even when the waves are crashing down
You're still good
God, You're so good

The news hits me so hard
My brother's baby girl won't make it out alive
This feeling of helplessness overtakes me
I don't know why this happened but we miss you, Avery

 

 



Capture Your Grief : Day 26 // Her age

 

 

I began my 25th week of my pregnancy on Tuesday, March 9, 2010. Every Tuesday, I took a new belly photo, waiting to get bigger and bigger. I never knew this would be the last time I would photograph myself pregnant with Avery. Two days later, on March 11th, we found out she was gone.

Avery was 25 weeks gestation. One week past viability. Micropreemie status. Only 15 weeks left to go. Just three months and three weeks until she was supposed to be here. My Summer baby. But instead, she was my Winter baby. Oddly fitting with the chill in the air.

I used to wish that I was much further along if I had to lose Avery at all. I thought maybe she would be considered more legitimately my child had she been bigger and older. That she would count without question.

But she was 25 weeks old. She was perfect. And she is ours always.

Capture Your Grief : Day 25 // Baby shower

I never got to have a baby shower for Avery. I was 25 weeks pregnant when she was born still. There were no shower plans in the making, no guest list being worked on... But we had registered at both Target and Babies R Us. We couldn't wait to do that. We loved it.

We had many things for Avery, waiting for her in her room. Anytime my mom and I would go out on a shopping date, she would buy a few things for her. Each week, Daniel and I would pick up another outfit, and we'd even purchased Avery's coming home outfit -- a cute little brown and pink dress with flowers on it.

All of these things remained in her closet, in her room until we were moving and had no choice but to pack up her things. Even now, they're still in the same box, up in a closet. I still dream of another little girl to come home in that little brown and pink dress.

Capture Your Grief : Day 24 // Siblings

After we lost Avery, I couldn't imagine a day when I'd be okay with offering up my womb to another child. I knew I wanted to have more children one day, but in the depths of my grief, I couldn't fathom emotionally surviving it.

Surprisingly, it was only three months before Daniel and I decided we were ready to try again to make Avery a big sister. It took us nine long cycles to conceive Jude. Each month was another slap in the face. It was easy to worry that Avery would be the only child we could ever have. But finally, on January 21, 2011, we found out Jude was on his way.

It was a beautiful and horrific 31 weeks, but Jude made it. And he came to stay.

I wish Avery and Jude could grow up together, the way that I have grown up with my brothers. Because I had siblings, I always had friends. It makes me so sad to think that it's more probable than not that Jude will grow up alone. Whenever I see a big sister and a little brother together, I can't help but think of my kids and how they are supposed to be together.

We will raise Jude to know who Avery is and to love his big sister as if he knew her himself. She will always be special in our home. She will always be a part of our family. And she will always be Jude's big sister.

Capture Your Grief : Day 23 // Name & photo

I still remember the exact moment we settled on Avery's name. My dad was on the phone with his funeral director friend and he needed her name for the obituary. That's when she was officially named. I hate that she died before it was definite.

When I was first pregnant, we had always said, if it's a boy, he will be Jude and if it's a girl, she will be Avery. That was it. But we began to question things, as I'm really bad at coming up with girl names and Jude had been set in stone since before we were married. We considered Sawyer Grace for her for a short while, but ultrasounds at both 20 and 23 weeks couldn't completely determine her gender. It was probably because she was slowly dying. But of course, we didn't know that.

Daniel and I just looked at each other, wondering what our poor lost baby should be called. She was still with us, but gone at the same time. Not even born yet, but already in Heaven. She no longer felt like a Sawyer. I hadn't been sure it was girly enough anyway. (I worry about what other people think) I asked Daniel if he wanted to name her Cadence, his favorite, and he shook his head. I agreed. Then I started to cry, knowing her name in my heart. "I want to name her Avery," I choked out. And he knew it as well. We weren't sure on a middle name, and at the time, didn't feel like it mattered a whole lot. We gave her my name as her middle name, to kind of keep us "together." And now I regret that. I wish she had a beautiful, meaningful middle name. Avery doesn't mean anything special... (Elf ruler?!) so it would have been nice if it was something like Grace (after my grandma and just the beautiful trait itself). But that's her name. And it's okay. There are worse things... like her being gone.

I love the name Avery. I think it's the most beautiful name in the whole world. I wish I could actually call that name and see a precious little head of ringlets turn to answer. I wish I could hear that name spoken on more lips. I just wish she was here to have her name and use her name and be her name.

"Remember me," she said, smiling. "Write my name somewhere safe..." - Jimmy Eat World

Capture Your Grief : Day 22 // Place of care

I love my doctor. I love her staff. I always enjoyed going to my appointments. It makes me sad to think I'll never go there again for another pregnancy.

Capture Your Grief : Day 21 // Sacred space

We have a special little place in our home for certain Avery mementos. Underneath two large photos taken the day she was born, is a small shelf. There sits our Avery Bear (made by Molly Bears), wearing a heart necklace with Avery's name on it that we got in Gatlinburg, Tennessee back in March. There's a pink letter 'A' I got at Hobby Lobby. A framed photo of her -- my absolute favorite. The frame has a little pinwheel on it since they are special to us and remind us of her. There's a Willow Tree figure called 'Angel of Freedom' holding a butterfly in her hands. My mom bought it for us since butterflies are so significant to us. There's a ceramic little baby girl shoe that says 'Jesus Loves Me' on it. Avery's name and birthday are written on the bottom. Daniel's mom gave it to us when Avery was born. Then there's a little glass teddy bear with wings holding a blue heart for March's birthstone. There's a pretty purple butterfly hanging right above the shelf and recently, Daniel made an origami butterfly that hangs over the entire display.

I don't prefer to call this a shrine. It's just our tribute to our little girl. There's no way of knowing if we'll always keep it there, but for now, it's a way to keep her mark in our home since she can't be here like she's supposed to be.

Capture Your Grief : Day 20 // Organization

Through my journey to build a family, a few special organizations and charities have become close to my heart.

Oddly enough, about two years before Avery was even born, I came across NILMDTS online and sat and cried at the computer as I looked at the gorgeous photos of these beautiful lost babies. I was amazed that such a thing existed and knew in my heart, as I pained for those parents, that that would be the very worst thing that could ever happen to me. I never dreamed it would actually happen to me. If my life was a movie or a book, I guess stumbling upon their website would have been foreshadowing. What was even more odd, I did not remember that NILMDTS existed when it came time to be the grieving mother. Unfortunately, my hospital did not offer it as an option. I'm not sure if they didn't know about it or if it was somehow up to me to ask for the arrangements. Every time I remember, I am saddened that I was not able to receive their kind services and have professional, beautiful photos of my little girl. It was up to us to capture her details, instead of just spending time with her. Daniel and I traded off with the camera the entire seven hours. We don't even have a family photo together. I regret that very much.

Because of Jude, I support March of Dimes. Preemies are so delicate and start out with so many obstacles to overcome. MOD helps get them there. I don't know if Jude was directly benefited from MOD. I can only assume that the NICU he stayed in receives help from them. Either way, it's a wonderful thing, to march for babies, to save the babies. :)




Molly Bears is a beautiful organization. They make weighted teddy bears for bereaved families. When I got my Avery Bear, it touched my heart so much to feel her weight in my hands once again. It was a special moment and I cherish my beautiful bear so much. I love the work they do, and the love they put into each bear. It's crazy how comforting these bears are!

Capture Your Grief : Day 19 // Project

Not too long after Avery died, I was overcome with an immense desire to do something, to channel my grief into something good. I wanted to give back, or bless other people in my shoes, or better equip hospitals like the one I went to who seem to fall short on their preparedness for stillbirths. I wasn't exactly sure where was heart was at. I just wanted to help someone.

I was very surprised how quickly the world around me moved on after Avery died. I guess if it didn't happen to you, it's easy to just go about your life as if nothing happened. For me, life ended. My heart stopped when Avery's did. I could no longer function as a human being. I was a mere suggestion of the person I used to be. I ached for the comfort of those around me in the early days. I longed for words of encouragement and to know people were still thinking of us and remembering Avery. I needed it.

I was out with my dad one afternoon and we stopped at the grocery store. He needed to pick up a graduation card for his friend's daughter. I skimmed the sympathy cards, internally seething over the fact that they had a 'loss of pet' section but lacked a 'loss of child' section. I thought about all of the generic cards I'd received and wondered if their purchasers were any bit dismayed over the poor choices of cards for such a loss. And in thinking about those cards, that desire for encouragement and comfort returned, and I wished I could still receive such love and confirmation that my struggle and my agony was cared about.

That's when I came up with BLM Penpals. It has seemed to sort of fizzle out now, but two years ago, it was a very comforting tool. I presented it to the readers of Avery's blog and they jumped at it. All of the baby loss moms who were interested submitted their home addresses, information on their precious babies, and some information about themselves. The idea was that we would all send cards, letters, small gifts to each other and continue to build each other up long after the world moved on. Over 30 women got involved.

It was so wonderful to open the mailbox and have a cheery, loving card from a kind stranger. Especially on the days when formula samples would arrive for a baby that was no longer alive. I enjoyed growing closer to these women and doing nice things for them. Instead of just dwelling on myself, I was thinking of others and trying to brighten their days. To this day, several of us send out Christmas cards. We always know how to reach each other if we'd like. I really enjoyed the early days of BLM Penpals. I think it blessed a lot of people at just the right time. I know it did that for me.



 

Capture Your Grief : Day 18 // Family portrait

There will always be someone missing in our family portraits. Each time I look at the three of us together, I think how there should be a fourth. I can't help but remember how incomplete my family is. Do not be mistaken, I am so grateful for Jude. We are so blessed that he is here and not with Avery, but that doesn't change our grief over her or the grief over the children we thought we would have but can't. It's not easy to accept that -- to accept the demise of a lifelong dream. I spent my entire childhood, dreaming of a life I will never have. It takes time to get used to this reality.

We are aware of adoption. We are aware of surrogacy. That doesn't mean either are easy or possible. So this is our family. The three of us -- always 'minus one'. Together by the Grace of God. Blessed to be a family. Blessed to share this life together.

Capture Your Grief : Day 17 // Birthday

Avery has already had two birthdays. Not the kind of birthdays filled with smiles and laughter, cake and ice cream, presents and games. Guests and decorations. Her birthdays have been spent at the cemetery where her shell rests. Both years, we have decorated her spot, covering her stone in little trinkets and tokens of our love for her. Fresh, pretty flowers. A birthday balloon.

On her first birthday, we released seven balloons, one for each hour we spent with her in the hospital room after she was born. On her second birthday, we got one balloon for each person in attendance (my family and Daniel's) and we all wrote a message to Avery on our balloons. Obviously, it was done for us and not for her. But it's comforting to pretend that she could receive the words we so lovingly scrawled. Jude was there for his sister's second birthday, which was bittersweet. He even released a balloon for her. One day he will understand what this all is. And he will know he has a sister in Heaven, a sister who saved his life and taught us how to help him survive.

Capture Your Grief : Day 16 // Release

Today's topic is release, relating to balloon, butterfly, or lantern releases in memory of our babies. Yesterday, I considered going out and purchasing a few balloons to release for Avery, so I would have a relevant photo and story for today's post. But when I woke up this morning, my throat so raw I could barely speak, my day was instead spent on the couch, all thoughts of balloon purchases gone out the window.

However, we have released balloons for Avery before. This kind of steals from tomorrow's post, but it's okay. It's odd how emotional it is to release balloons into the sky in someone's memory. I don't think I ever gave it much thought until I did it on her first birthday last year. There's more significance and meaning attached than one could realize. An emotional release more than just a physical one.

I remember last March, in the cemetery, 11 weeks pregnant with Jude, holding tightly the clusters of balloons in my hand. I was so reluctant to let go. I'm not even sure what the correlation of that emotion is. And when I finally did, I choked back tears. A few tears escaped as we all watched the seven balloons -- one for each hour we spent with Avery -- drift off toward Heaven. Maybe it's the act itself in place of a real birthday that evokes such a stir. Maybe it's the fabricated notion that the balloons will reach her at her Heavenly party so she would know we were remembering her special day.

Capture Your Grief : Day 15 // WAVE of LIGHT

Today is October 15th, Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Today we remember all of the babies lost... the ones who slipped away so quickly, the ones who were born still, the ones who never came home, the ones who only stayed for a short while. There are so many. Too many. We speak out today because in our society, miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death are so taboo. They are kept silent. These children deserve to be remembered. They are loved and always will be. We have to live this life without our children, we deserve to speak freely.

Today is also the day for Wave of Light. Worldwide, candles are lit at 7pm for one hour in remembrance and honor of our babies in Heaven. Because of the different time zones, the candles are lit in a sort of wave moving around the world. So many people take part and it's such a beautiful way to remember all these precious little ones.

"I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye - that was the trouble - I wanted to kiss you goodnight - and there’s a lot of difference." - Ernest Hemingway

Capture Your Grief : Day 14 // Community

I have not had the opportunity to attend an event for the baby loss community. Each year, it seems that any walks or special remembrance functions are always much too far away from me. I would love to attend a walk in Avery's honor someday. I think it would be so moving and so wonderful.

The baby loss community itself, however, has been a huge part of this journey through grief. I have met dozens of women online who have walked the same path of loss. I first met many through my old blog, The Avery Diaries, that I started three months after losing her. I was inspired by the amazing Kristin Cook, after her blog, Dear Stevie, touched my heart and sparked a need to share my daughter and express myself and my grief. I connected with many of the women on Facebook, furthering our friendships.

I have sent and received many cards and letters with these lovely women. We have exchanged Christmas cards each year since our losses and continue to keep in touch through our blogs, Facebook, Instagram, and even Pinterest. It's so calming to know that there are other mothers out there like me, who live this life and endure the struggles as I do.

Capture Your Grief : Day 13 // Signs

For me personally, I don't believe that Avery is at all here on this Earth, not any more than forever being a part of Daniel and me. I don't think she can physically show me signs or speak to me in any way. I'm not speaking against other people that believe in these things for their children. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just not how I see my daughter. But I would like to think that she is aware of us and that God lets her see how loved she is. I know she is in Heaven, and nowhere else, waiting for us. Saving us a place. And I would like to think that it's God that gives us signs to remind us that our sweet girl is up there with Him, safe in His embrace, loving us and waiting for the day we can be together again.

If God does send me signs that Avery loves us from above, I think it's the little butterflies, appearing for just moments, fluttering among the flowers in my yard, or along the street as I pass by in my car, or passing by me so delicately as I walk. God knows they make me think of my girl. And maybe he sends them by to show me that my girl is thinking of me.

Capture Your Grief : Day 12 // Scents

It's so odd how a certain scent can take you back to a certain time or moment. There are a few scents that spark the memory of Avery. When I was pregnant with her, we had one of those reed diffusers in our kitchen. I think it was some sort of pomegranate scent. I still have the used reeds in a plastic bag in her memory box because smelling them reminds me of being pregnant with her.

Of course, the smell of the hospital reminded me of the day she was born. That cold sterile smell, I guess. I spent a lot of time in the hospital in the last year with Jude and my blood clots so I'm not sure if that smell would still remind me of Avery or if I'd think of the NICU or being hospitalized... or maybe I'd even think of visiting my grandpa before he died last month. Who knows.

Avery had a certain scent to her as we held her. I can't describe it. Sometimes I will be out and about and I'll catch that scent for just a second. I have no idea where it comes from, but sometimes I just find it and I stop dead in my tracks. Then it's gone. The only thing that even remotely still smells like her is her little blanket she was wrapped in. I hope as it continues to fade, I never forget the way she smelled as I cuddled her close to my cheek.